


An arm and a leg

by Dinkdidnothingwrong



Series: Bonzo needs a competent guardian [3]
Category: Ender's Game - All Media Types, Homestuck
Genre: Fluff, Found Family, Grandpa harley and Mazer know each other don't ask, Hyrum is once again dad to an asburd number of kids, M/M, Multi, Ommited some characters that will be added later as not to spoil things, Problem Children, crack fic-ish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-06 19:35:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18857692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dinkdidnothingwrong/pseuds/Dinkdidnothingwrong
Summary: There his kids, no matter what the government says. God help anyone who tries to take them away.





	An arm and a leg

**Author's Note:**

> This is for me and me only. Don't like it don't read.

“Drink.” Bonzo tipped his head up, just enough to sip water from the bottle. Someone slipped a hand under his head, holding it up. “There we go. Need to keep you hydrated.” The bottle was replaced with a warm towel, damp but comforting.  
“Gracías.” He muttered, leaning into the person’s hand. They just patted his cheek and went off. Bonzo could smell something cooking in the other room, beef and cream and maybe onions. Maybe. “What is that?”  
“Something you'll like. Go ahead and drift back off, this won't be ready anytime soon.” Bonzo nodded and lowered his head. Before he slept though, he wondered why their voice was so familiar. But the couch was soft and his body tired, so he nodded back off.  
“Dinner.” The man from earlier was shaking him. He could again smell beef, but it was much closer, and when he opened his eyes he saw it was on the coffee table in front of him. A warm bowl full of beef stew, with heavy cream for his throat and chunks of onions and celery. Slowly, he brought a spoonful of the strange beef stew to his lips, and sipped it. The warmth was soothing and the cream gentle on his throat which ached like the rest of him. He got about halfway through it before he looked up at the man watching him. He seemed familiar, with his white hair and hard face, but Bonzo didn’t care enough to try and place him. Besides, wasn’t like this was a terrible setup. Food and comfort was more than he got at school, so he’d take this for now. “That help your throat at all?”  
“A little bit.”  
“Good. Finish what you have there.” Bonzo tipped the bowl and drank the rest of the broth, spooning out the beef pieces afterwards. The man left but quickly returned with a small glass of milk. He drank it one long gulp, though he wasn’t thirsty. He knew the man wouldn’t leave till he finished, and he wanted to go back to sleep. ‘You probably have questions.”  
“Not really.”  
“Well I technically have to give the mandatory spiel about all this,” He gestured vaguely to the surrounding room. “so listen up.” Bonzo just rolled over. He didn’t want to hear about the ‘spiel’ or ‘all this’, he wanted to sleep. But the man slipped his hands under his blanket and flipped him back over, patient annoyance drifting off him. “I promise I’ll make this short.” Bonzo huffed and sat upon the couch, and realized he wasn’t in his living room. This house was smaller, and had a real porch, not just a balcony on the first floor. Through the window he could see long green fields, and a…godamn barn.  
“Where the hell am I?”  
“An old country home I inherited after my mother died. We used to own the fields too, but not anymore.”  
“Why?”  
“Reasons that aren’t any of your business Bonzo.”  
“How do you know my name?” The man turned from the window with a look of confusion.  
“What do you mean how do I know your name? I known you practically your entire life.”  
“How???”  
“Now, I know you’re loopy but really, you can’t even remember me?”  
“No! Who are you?”  
“Colonel Graff!” Suddenly Bonzo placed him and the world seemed to fall into to place. He was spending the summer at Graff’s house with the others, after the incident with his father. Graff was feeding him because he was legally his guardian now. Groaning, he slid back down the couch. “Do you remember now?”  
“I wanna go home.”  
“Yes or no!”  
“Yes now I wanna go home!” How childish to whine, like a complete brat. Graff just sighed, already exhausted.  
“Bonzo you can't go home. Your father broke your wrist and he might do it again.”  
“I don't want to stay with you!”  
“Well personally Bonzo I don't want you here either but I’d rather have you with me than in danger!” Graff snapped, resisting the urge to gently smack the boy on the side of his head. “Besides, this is technically a punishment. For both of us.” Graff held up his leg, on which rested a heavy ankle bracelet.  
“You're under house arrest.”  
“Within reason. I can still go out and pick you up, per say, but if I try to leave you idiot kids it'll lock my leg up till they come and get me.”  
“Lock up your leg?” Graff pulled up his pants leg so the prosthetic shined in the late afternoon sun.  
“Oh. Fine. Fine! I'll stay here, but who the hell else lives here?” With this Graff gave a low whistle, and the entire house shook with the rattle of kids. Feet pounded against the stairs as 6 other boys rushed into the living room, one slipping and smacking into the far wall. Blood poured from his lip, Graff sighing and pushing a napkin to his face.  
“I've told you about those stairs a million times, now look at the impression you've made.” Graff hissed. The boy looked over towards Bonzo, poking the others and gesturing wildly. Each boy turned separately, but didn’t look at him for longer then 3 seconds. “Boys, this is Bonzo. He'll be staying with us till further notice. Introduce yourselves.” The boys shuffled among themselves till one was pushed in front, a dark European boy with heavy scarring around his throat.  
“Pinual.” He said, waving somewhat. “German, 14, and I've been here about 17 years now.” He stepped back and another approached. The boy from the bottom of the stairs foot up, still pressing the napkin to his lip. On his head was a large red birthmark near his mouth, and he wore a look that screamed restraint.  
“Achilles. Belgian, 12, and 2 years.” Next was a frazzled blonde, whose mop fell in front of his eyes.  
“Peter. American, 15, and 5 years.” A giant mass of curls and legs pushed through the crowd and presented himself to Bonzo.  
“Rosen, 17, and I’ve been here for 3 whole years. What happened to your wrist?” Bonzo stared at his arm.  
“My dad broke it.”  
“That explains a lot about you.” Rose swished back up the stairs, ignoring Graff's yells to stay downstairs. The next boy stepped up.  
“Zechariah. With an e. 9, and its been 3 years since my dad threw me out a window.”  
“Oh. Solidarity I guess?” Bonzo said, holding up his arm.  
“Sure. Welcome to the ranch.”  
“Not a ranch.” Graff said.  
“I'm Muhamad.” A tan boy with a long blue visor piped up from the very back. Down the bridge of his nose was a very straight incision, not even 12 centimeters in length. “I'm 16, and I’ve been stuck here 6 years. I'm also blind without this visor so be careful.” He nodded. What a terrible group of people to stuck with. But he'd make do. They were all stuck here weren’t they? He'd find someone to latch onto, but for now he just snuck behind Graff and held his arm.  
“Come on kid. I wouldn't let them hurt you even if they wanted to.” The older rubbed Bonzo's arm, moving him up and down with every move of his hand. Bonzo just smooshed himself farther, and Graff sighed. “Give him some space.” The boys filed back upstairs, Graff grabbing the blankets from the couch and following them. “You'll sleep here. I'd put you somewhere else if we had room.” He realized this was also Graff's room, and stalked over to his bed. Pulling the blankets over himself, he drifted back off. 

Bonzo fretted, and awoke to the sound of crying. Looking around, Bonzo's gaze settled on what had to be Graff, who's chest shuddered erratically. In front of him, his desk filled the bedroom with a blue-ish light. “I don't care what you have to do Hyrum, I-CHZT-will get what I want here. You do want that bracelet off don't you?”  
“I'm trying my best,” Graff choked out. “I just got another one with a broken wrist! You'll have whatever confessions you need just don't try to involve them!”  
“I wouldn't-crackle-to if you didn't keep fucking this up! We need this kid acquitted or we're both going down with him. That bracelet won't be anything compared to a cell Hyrum! I'm signing off. Get me what I need or kiss those damn delinquents goodbye.” The person hung up before Graff could respond, and he buried his face into his pillows. He kept cursing, something about Cham and Mazer and the law system.  
“Sir? He whispered. Graff whipped around, instinctively shoving his desk onto the floor. “Are you alright?”  
“What did you hear?!”  
“Who needs to be acquitted for you to stay?” Graff went to speak, but stopped.  
“Don't you dare repeat any of that to the others. As far as any of you know, I'm just stuck with this damn bracelet, alright?”  
“Okay but sir are you-“  
“I'm fine. Get some sleep.” Bonzo rolled over, but could hear the other fiddling with something. A disgusting pop rang out, and something metallic fell to the ground. Graff lumbered out of the room, obviously in pain. Bonzo flicked on the lights and stared down at Graff's leg, a thick trail of crimson going out the door and down the hall. Ducking out into the house, he watched as Graff leaned against the wall and pulled a handle on the ceiling. A step ladder flopped down, and Graff forced himself up it. Once up he pulled the ladder into the hole, and disappeared.  
“He on the roof again?” Bonzo jumped and smacked his head into the door frame, Rose inhaling through his teeth and exhaling wholly when he got up uninjured. “Jesus Christ Bonzo! Calm it hot shit.”  
“What is he doing?”  
“I have no idea. You just kinda got to have to leave him alone.”  
“He got a call in the middle of the night.”  
“About what?”  
“Something-I-actually…”  
“It’s okay. He does enough for us already, he deserves a little time off.”  
“He's dripping blood.”  
“Oh. Pinual! Graff's bleeding on the roof again!”  
“Oh Süßer Kabeljau. GRAFF!” What kind of loon house was Bonzo stuck in. “Go to bed Bonzo!”  
The morning came, and Graff was safely sleeping in his bed. His leg was still on the floor, but he showed no signs of distress. Bonzo slipped out and went out into the yard staring at the endless rolling fields of Eastern Virginia. “It's pretty isn’t it?” Rose said from behind him.  
“When do I get to go home?”  
“When he's acquitted. But we won't have to worry about that for a long while.”


End file.
